Existentialism, Rewritten
by chromodynamic
Summary: When you think about it, Vocaloids being people whilst also being a purchasable product is actually kind of messed up. Johnathan Moody is a troubled man, but for the time being he has to set that aside - who's this girl, with her big blue ponytails, and why does she have nowhere she belongs? Rewrite of something I wrote 5 years ago. Not a shipping fic.
1. Chapter 1, Coincidence

It turns too far to look comfortable. Maybe only by about ten degrees either way, but still; hands aren't supposed to be able to twist quite that far at the wrist. I'd never been able to get over that. Not sure I never will, to be frank - and it's supposed to be my wrist. The wrist which is mine. The wrist between my arm and my hand. The hand it was attached to being sheathed away in black leather didn't help with the matter; who would've known a damn _glove_ could make me so uncomfortable?  
Well. Better to keep it on, I suppose. Less questions that way. Less discomfort.

My drink was too fizzy and too sweet. But cheap was as cheap is - cheap - and thus, it'll satisfy me. I sip it quietly as I watch the world outside pass me by. I check my watch - yup, still the same day, if about five minutes later than it was the last time I checked. 11:07 PM, 22nd December, 20XX. Truly, t'was the Christmas season, and the spirit of it inhabited every damn living creature around. Everywhere you looked, practically every single square centimeter of space was filled to the brim with green and gold and silver and red, baubles and tinsel and fairy lights and…

I neck my drink. Tonight, I'm filled with spirits of a much more chemical kind. I stare out the window, watching gaggles of late Christmas shoppers waddling back and forth, overburdened with meaningless 'gifts'. Am I being too judgy? Who gives a damn? It's not exactly my fault that Christmas has become such a commercial thing. A century ago it was about family. Sometimes I wish I could've been around for days like that. Now, it's all about the material. New car this, virtual reality that - whatever.

Speaking of ambulatory waddling, the mechanical bartender seems to have waltzed over whilst I was busy giving people who'd no clue I was there the hard stare. Bartending around these parts isn't the most popular of jobs - long, long hours standing up on what would probably be minimum wage if you were lucky - so like many an unpopular profession, some of the spots are taken up by a line of adaptable worker androids. Not particularly advanced, mind you; you plug in what their job is and they do it. They don't get better at it, but then again they never have sick days or strikes or any somesuch. Troughs and valleys.

This bartender was no exception to the rule. I swear, the last drink I ordered had been measured in its mixture to the most minute millilitre. I frown. Accidental alliteration.

They were fortunately on the stylised side of the uncanny valley - no attempt made here to make a facsimile of the human face, and all the better for it. I mean, have you _seen_ the faces on some of those early 21st century models? Nightmare fuel, I tell you. Absolute ni-

"Sir, you've taken two drinks," I jump in my seat, her mechanical voice jolting me from my reverie. "Legally, I can offer you two more of the same."

"Fuckin' hell…" I murmur, steadying myself. I rummage through my pockets, placing a couple credits on the counter. "Another one then, same as last." The bartender-robo was practically ablur, creating the concoction in what must've been fifteen seconds flat. I managed to down it in less than a minute. Still too sweet, I complain internally as I stare down at laminated synthwood, part of me fixated on the perfect ebb and flow of the totally-real-we-swear grain. Yeah, probably high time I left for home and took this thing off. The leather squeaks as I close my fist.

I arise from my stool and step away from the bar. Well, I say step, but that was definitely a stagger. Takes me a moment to steady myself again, the world swaying of its own accord as my body adjusted to its own inebriation. That synthetic alcohol shit - synthol as we all call it when too drunk so say either word separately - is supposed to be less potent that the real thing. Either that's a load of bollocks or I'm a lightweight, and I'm not inclined to call myself anything that isn't my name.

"Thank you, come again." The bartenderbot says automatically.

"I will." I reply absentmindedly as I roll my shoulder. Seems fine, but better safe than sorry.

I continue toward the door, staggering a little here and there but otherwise keeping much steadier now. As I exit, a girl sprints past and ducks into an alley. Two men follow, one in a grey hoodie and the other in a black jacket, pausing to glance down the street before realising their quarry had gone into the alley and pursuing her. Come on, really? I glance about. Nobody else seems to have noticed. Fuck. Well, shit; I might as well balance out sinful drinking with a good deed - not that I was a believer in superstitious nonsense, but I may as well give myself a reason to intervene.

I flex my hands as I stumble over to the alley, finding her cowering against a wall as one of the men - the grey hoodie one - slowly advances. She looks young, mid-teens perhaps. Asian heritage, definitely. Hoods up all round, apart from me; but this jacket is lacking in the hood department.

The other guy, black jacket, somehow doesn't hear me approach. I'm not exactly light footed, neither am I a small man, and yet he nevertheless fails to notice my presence. "Oi, mate." I say, tapping him on the shoulder.

He turns, eyes wild with astonishment and anger - and his head then reels back as my fist collides right with his ugly nose. Something cracks, and it wasn't my hand. He stumbles to the side, his friend yelling expletives as the girl takes the opportunity to boot him in the crown jewels, and the girl scrambles past him to take cover behind me. "Fucking despicable." I grunt at grey hoodie as he gets his bearings.

"Fucking shank him!" Black jacket grunts between pained mumbles.

Then grey hoodie pulls a fucking knife out. A kitchen knife, mind you; but a knife's a knife's a knife. I mean, I did deck him in his beak but… is that any reason to stab a guy? Actually, looking at his face, it's all the reason he needed - dude looked absolutely irate, blood dripping down his chin from his busted nose. He lunges at me, thrusting the knife forward.

I meet the blade with the palm of my hand, the knife cutting into the leather and digging fast on the material beneath. I bring my other hand smacking down on his wrist, pulling my gloved hand away. I flick my hand away, hard enough to dislodge the knife, sending it skittering into the street.

He looks at me. He looks at the knife. He looks at me again. I punch him square in the jaw. As he staggers back, the girl steps up and delivers a swift kick to his bollocks - wahey, two for two! His legs give out and he collapses in a groaning heap. I look around for his mate but he seems to have disappeared further down the alley, and I can just barely hear him screaming every swear he knows over the din of evening traffic as he sprints away. I kick grey hoodie in the side for good measure and turn to leave.

The girl was looking at me from the entrance of the alley, staring intently at me from the shadowed safety of her hood, her gaze one of both sincere thanks and dubious curiosity. Her hair and eyes seemed to be black, but with the heavily orange-tinted street lights they could have easily been a shade of blue. She was rather on the small side - at least half a foot shorter than myself, and obviously lighter. I had no doubt that I could've picked her up with not a damn problem.

"Y'alright?" I ask her as I approach. Cautiously, mind you; no point in spooking her.

The girl nods, grinning. "Yes, yes, I am now. Thank you, thank you!" Huh. Not the voice I was expecting. Quite sincere; sweet, almost. Almost sing-song, in fact. Definitely the voice of a talented vocalist.

I wave my hand dismissively. "Nah, it was nothing. Anybody in my situation would've done the same, I think." To be frank, it definitely felt better than I was expecting to help a random stranger. I hadn't really helped anyone to this amount - or anywhere close - since that frightful day, almost a year ago now. The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth. That being said, not as sour as the thought of what those pair of predators would've done to her had I or anyone else not intervened.

I stamp down on the knife as I pass by, snapping the blade in two. No more stabbing for you, I think to myself as I kick the handle down the alley.

"Really? I suppose so…" She cocks her head curiously. "Is your hand ok?"

Oh, right. Knife to the palm. I shake the hand a little, flexing my fingers, and it seems to be working fine. "Yeah, it's fine. Not a damn thing wrong."

She frowns. "Are you sure? It looked like it went in."

"Tough glove." I hope she buys it. Leather is pretty tough.

She looks skeptical. Probably thought I was lying to her. Wasn't wrong. "Well… Okay, I guess."

I do my best to not audibly breathe a sigh of relief. Tetchy subject, especially at the moment. I roll my shoulder, grimacing a little.

"Hey!" She begins with a sudden bout of renewed eagerness. Seems she's taken to me rather easily - waaaay easier than makes me comfortable. Good lord, how old is this girl? No wonder she got into trouble. "What's your name?"

I disguise a suppressed belch with a clearing of my throat. Too fucking fizzy. "John," I reply, at least sober enough to recall my own bloody name. "John Moody."

"Cool!" She cocks her head again. "Can I call you Moody?"

I'm smiling a little? Surprised, too. Somehow nobody has ever used my surname as a nickname in all my life - and come to think of it, it's kind of the perfect kind to be used as one. "Well, I won't stop you. Moody it is, I suppose." Ironically, the name seems to have lifted my spirits from its namesake. Huh. "Well, what about you? What's your name?"

She seems to straighten up a little, her smile as bright as ever. How can she be so cheery after brushing with something so dire? I haven't seen such naivete in… Well, maybe ever. "My name is Hatsune Miku! How do you do?" She offers her hand for me to shake, and after a moment of confused hesitation I indeed shake it. Good lord, that is a soft hand - and yet the shake is surprisingly firm. Seemed like there was more strength in those ladylike arms than I had at first thought.

So, her name was Hatsune Miku… Odd name. I mean, I suppose it had some kind of nice ring to it, but… What is that, far East? Japanese, maybe? Feels like Japanese. "Huh. Is that Japanese?" If I was right, then...

She nods exceedingly vigorously. "Yeah! How'd you know? Do you speak any?" Alright, so that meant 'Hatsune' was the family name and 'Miku' was the forename.

I shake my head. "No, no. I just thought it sounded Japanese." She's still clutching my hand rather tightly. "You can, uh, let go now."

Miku lets go rather suddenly. Was she blushing? Couldn't quite tell. Whatever, I shouldn't care; I remind myself as I glance at my wristwatch, squinting in the warm yet distinctly cold street light. 11:16. "It's getting kinda late," I remark out loud, making sure she hears it. "Almost midnight, even. I've had a couple drinks and I'm getting tired, so I should probably get on home already. Try to keep away from any more people like those pair, yeah? See you around." I nod courteously and with that left for my apartment.

The dusk was growing colder. Dusk, what am I on about? No, it's nearly midnight. My breath was condensing into puffs of white in front of me, blowing back into my face with the chill winter breeze. I huff and zip my jacket up, pulling it tighter around me, all the combined warmth of alcohol and adrenaline having fled my system. Christ, I should've brought a scarf.

I find my eyes wandering skyward for a distraction, this town at night is surprisingly dull when you've lived here for so damn long. I was no stargazer but I was familiar with a few constellations… Ah, three stars in a perfect line. "Orion's belt?" I ask myself, squinting up at it. Hey, where's mine again? I spend a few moments searching for my zodiac before remembering it was on the other side of the planet.

Alcohol is just like that. Makes you happier by making you dumber.

My mind moves on, gaze drifting back down in front of me. Too much light pollution for the sky to be any fun. That girl, that Miku. Frankly, I'm wondering why she'd been alone at night in the first place. Practically asking for trouble, especially in that skirt. She definitely should've been wearing a longer skirt, or some trousers maybe. Wait, it's winter? Why is she wearing a skirt at all? It's cold as balls! Yeah, those boots were long as hell, but they didn't look padded, and that bare skin must've been absolutely freezing.

A longer skirt might've helped her not be jumped by drunk teens though… I shake my head, trying to dismiss mental images of her waist area from my mind. She's like a teenager man, get it together.

"Yeah, too cute." I grumble to myself at random, if only to vent.

"Aye, I suppose… But too young." I reply with a half-shrug. Great, I've started discourse with myself. This'll end well.

"Almost a shame you'll never see her again." I mutter, knowing entirely that such is the truth. If I've never seen her before, the odds of us meeting again are extraordinarily slim.

"Alright, but… why do I care?" I hadn't considered that. Sure, she was cute and friendly but… She was a stranger. Why care about some stranger? The world's too much of a busy fuckup to worry about every random I ever come across. I sigh, glancing down at my only companion, my own shadow. Am I too drunk or does it look weird? Kinda looks like more than one shadow, actually; like there's someone behind me. Now that I think of it, there's more footsteps I can hear than my own. She's fucking following me, isn't she?

I half-turn, looking behind me. Lo and behold, the girl had indeed been following me the entire time. "Oh, shit," I say as I stare blankly at her. "You were following me this entire time?"

Miku nods. "Yup." Kinda creepy.

"And you heard everything I said?"

"All of it," Oh. Fuck. Internally I was most certainly squirming at that, but I was trying my best to keep a straight face. Wasn't entirely sure I was succeeding at that. "Oh, but it didn't make much sense." Well, that was a little relief I suppose. From the look on her face, she was even telling the truth.

I breath a rough and extremely audible sigh of the utmost relief. Miku cocked her head and squinted in confusion at me. "Eh? What's wrong?"

And the squirming started up once again, like there was something digging around in there for food "No, nothing, just… uh…" Quick. Think of something. Anything related to what was going on. "Why exactly are you following me?"

She shifts her weight about awkwardly, as if deciding on precisely what to say and what not to say. "Well, I kinda… um… maybe don't… have anywhere to stay."

Was she trying to guilt trip me into letting her sleep on my couch for the night? "Why don't you get a hotel room for the night? They don't cost that much money if you go with something cheap."

Miku gives me a sheepish half-glance, neglecting eye contact for all but a split second. "I, um… don't have any money." Damnit, she _is_ trying to play the pity game! I groan in exasperation, because I can definitely feel it working. If she has to stay out here in the streets all night, she'll run into even more trouble.

"You know what, I'm not even going to bother arguing with you against this." I grumble, making my best attempt to feel a little angry at the situation but somehow failing entirely - I just couldn't manage it at all. Was I too drunk to be angry, or was it just her overwhelming naivete and innocence? I don't remember drinking _that_ much, if I'm honest. "Just… whatever, you can stay the night at my place."

"Really?!" She hops in excitement, a glimmer in her eyes.

"Calm the fuck down," I reply with a glare, gesturing for her to settle. "Don't make me change my mind. I'm not exactly prone to doing stuff like this, but, well. There's something about you..." I trail off as I fail to find the exact words I mean without it coming off as creepy.

Miku suddenly looks very interested in what I have to say, taking another step closer, causing me to half-step away in response. "What? What is it?"

I gnaw in the inside of my cheek as I think it over to myself. Boy, if I say the wrong thing, things could go to Hell in a handbasket real damn fast. Sheer _problematicism_. Wait, is that even a word? "Well, there's something about you, or your situation, or whatever, that intrigues me on some level." I sigh and start walking again, hearing her footsteps follow behind me. Frankly, the level Miku seems to trust me already is mystifying at best, and troubling at worst. I didn't consider myself to look or act like somebody you could instantly trust, or at least that was what I thought. Hell, even how I'm dressed is down to a fabrication. "I'm not sure what or why. It's just a feeling. A hunch. There's more to your situation that you're letting on, or maybe just you. More than meets the eye." I cough. "Like a Transformer."

"What?"

"Nevermind."


	2. Chapter 2, Truth

By the time I reach my apartment it very abruptly dawns on me that I have been rambling the entire time, for what was probably about ten or so straight minutes, and just like that I forgot exactly what it was about. Why? What about, exactly? Why had it been so unimportant that the realisation had made me loose the reasoning? I turn to Miku as I fish around in my pocket for my keys. Lo and behold, she is still behind me. "Sorry."

Miku gives me a confused look. "Sorry? What for?"

I frown. "Rambling? For like _ten_ minutes?" How could she be oblivious to that? Did she just… zone out? "I was rambling and you didn't need to hear that. The half drunk, barely sane ramblings of some mechanic with too much time on his stupid clumsy drunk hands… I'm doing it again. Sorry."

She smiles at me reassuringly. "It's okay. It's just part of who you are."

Well, that was a relief I suppose, even if it did feel like something she'd taken from a fortune cookie. "Oh. Well, thanks for understanding." Finally, I find my keys, unlock the door and head on inside. It was only when the door was finally firmly shut behind me that I realised how hot it actually is. "Hell's bells it's hot as _fuck_ in here. Need to turn the thermo down…" I take my righthand glove off, stuffing it firmly in my jacket pocket before tossing said jacket aside onto the couch. Still too hot. I take off my shirt and similarly throw it aside. Ah, much better, should tide me over until I turn the goddamn heat down. Now… where's the thermostat again?

I hear a gasp from behind me, shortly after remembering I had company. I turn, thinking Miku had gasped at me taking my shirt off, but I immediately saw that was not quite the case. Rather, her gaze was fixated on my right arm. Ah, right. That one tiny, trivial, definitely-not-worth-mentioning detail.

I have a _prosthetic arm_. I gulp, looking down at it. It's a marvel of modern engineering - a piston driven carbon-fibre endoskeleton surrounded by hundreds of thick carbonylite threads acting the part of synthetic muscles that give finer control, covered on the joints by a segmented polymer casing. The augment composes the entirety of my right arm, from finger to shoulder. A marvelous mechanical facsimile of a human arm.

And I hate it. I hate the whole reason I have it. I want my real arm back. "Uh… Yeah I… forgot to mention. I have a prosthetic arm."

Miku, at long last, casts away her hood, revealing to me her hair. And by _God_, there is a fucking truckload of hair, and it's all blue. Green? Turquoise?! In the much clearer, whiter light of my apartment I can see she has blue-green hair; mountains of the stuff, done into two ponytails that on actual inspection travel down into the neck of her hoodie and out the bottom, past her skirt, all the way to her bloody _knees._ That's a lot of fucking hair. That's too much hair. That's more hair than any one person should be able to handle. Is it even _real_? It looks so perfect, so pristine, so fucking pretentiously and painfully picturesque! Her eyes are blue too, though it's close to a sapphire-azure shade than the startling tropical teal of her magnificent mountain's worth of hair. How heavy is that hair? How much fucking time does it take to wash, to comb, to brush? It just seems… _Unreasonable!_

Why am I so fucking irate over hair?! Those bright blue eyes have been staring at me through my whole mental journey - breakdown? - like they were trying to bore into my goddamn soul, an intense and intentful stare of curiosity. I've definitely had stares of worse emotional content but the intensity of hers really does take the bloody cake. I abruptly realise she said something that I had been too distracted to quantify until probably about five seconds after she said it. "Come again?"

Miku sighs. "You could have told me you had an augment. I think it's cool. Why didn't you tell me?"

Odd. She calls it an augment, I call it a prosthetic. Well, actually, mostly I call it a heap of carbon plastic jammed into my shoulder. But even so. Prosthetic. Augment. What was the difference, there? I can't quite recall. "I… don't like talking about it? Besides, you didn't bloody ask." Come to think of it, if she had asked I probably would've complained. 'Hey, Moody, do you have a robot arm?' Bloody weird thing to be asked out of the blue.

She frowns, evidently not understanding why I would be ashamed of this fantastical piece of super advanced technology, this clearly and obviously superior substitute, this magnificent and high-tech facsimile, this amazingly super cool replacement. This fucking chunk of plastic and metal and carbon and wires jammed into my fucking body that feels exactly the way it sounds. "Why?"

I take a very deep breath and let it out as slow as I can. This girl is gonna ask some very awkward questions, I can feel it in my gut. A knot of anxiety and anticipation. Might also be the, uh, liquid diet I had earlier. When did I last eat something? "Not, uh, not right now. Later. I'll… tell you later." I clear my throat rather loudly as I notice her gaze has wandered from my arm to the rest of me. The noise gives her cause to look me right in the eye. Fucking piercing, man. "I'll… go put a… shirt on. Something that breathes."

Miku cocks her head. "But shirts don't have lungs? They don't respire at all? A lot of shirts, specifically synththreads like Nylon, were never even part of a living organism."

It takes me a good solid moment to even process that. "_What?_ I can't tell whether or not that was a joke."

She squints at me, frowning. "Why would it be a joke? It's a fact." I give her a good, long, hard stare; as blank as I can make it. Nope. Still can't tell whether or not she's joking. "Well, I don't particularly care whether or not you have a shirt on. I just want to get a closer look at your arm!"

I stare at her again staying stoic and still with the hardest expression I could muster on my face before finally becoming animate again. "Right. Well." Roll my shoulder again, heading - stumbling, more like, or maybe staggering - off to the kitchen to adjust the thermostat. What part of the bloody wall was it on again? Was it next to the switch, or under the sink? Or was it by the fridge?

I consider what just happened as I enter the fridge. Was she staring at me - everything bare above the waist - or just at my arm like she claimed? I was a mechanic by trade, a general one, so I had to at least stay in a decent shape to perform that job admirably. Yeah, yeah, I understand the chubby handyman stereotype who never has his trousers pulled up far enough. I'm not that. I don't want to be that. I wasn't exactly rippling with muscle - well toned, maybe, but nothing serious - so I'd never consider myself to be any kind of eye candy. Yeah, yeah, That added up. It was just the arm she was interested in, but gazes wander naturally. I shrug absentmindedly as I finally locate the thermostat, indeed below the sink. Time to turn it down a peg or two.

By the time I've managed to meander my way back into the living room, Miku has taken off her hoodie and taken a seat on the couch. Her choice in clothing is… _different_, to say the least. As I saw earlier, her legs decked out in these flexible overknee boots with blue soles; some kinda latex or plastic or something along those lines. Her waist, again, has a pretty short black pleated skirt with a blue trim - too short for casual wear, if you ask me. On her top half, a grey collared waistcoat with some kinda nametag on the front a little too small for me to read, completed with a blue tie hanging freely. On both arms, some kind of arm warmers or detached sleeves, loose at the cuff, with some sort of decal on the sides.

Casual wear, this ain't. It's more like a stage outfit. It's kind of a look, sure, but it doesn't look that comfortable. What's with this girl? It takes me a good few moments to process her choice in outfit, but after a few seconds I manage to shake the confusion from my system. "Why are you dressed like that?"

Miku frowns, giving her outfit a single cursory glance before looking up at me again. "What's wrong with it? I like it. Why are _you_ dressed like _that_?"

I open my mouth to retort but can't find any appropriate words. I swear under my breath, walking past her into the bedroom to go find some kinda shirt. I'm getting self conscious. First thing I spot is a tank top. Seems a good compromise. Prosthesis bare for her to study. Loose and breathable. Still covers my chest. Bingo.

I stagger back into the living room and flump down into the couch to her left, my impact on the cushion causing her to jump somewhat, though whether that was from surprise or just physics is beyond me.

"So, what do you do? Like, what's your job?" Miku isn't bothered to maintain any modicum of eye contact, leaning in to inspect my prosthesis.

Well, she knew how to start a new line of conversation, at least. "Oh, I'm a mechanic-for-hire. Handyman with one synthetic hand." I explain, gesturing slowly with that hand as I elaborate. "I repair what needs to be repaired, from androids to blenders to bicycles." I pat the forearm of my prosthesis with my flesh-and-blood hand. "I'm just about skilled enough to perform decent maintenance on this thing, with the instructions. Making it look nice and pretty and polished is easily enough, though." Miku nods in acknowledgement as I explain, clearly interested. She was some kind of tech buff, I guess. Whatever, enough about me - time to throw the question back at this weird girl. "What about you? What do you do?"

Miku beams at me, showing impressively perfect pearly whites, practically picturesque. Whatever her area of expertise is, she clearly loves it. "I'm a multilingual singer-songwriter! Or, I wanna be. I'm the first part already!"

Okay, okay. My interest is piqued. She's got some drive. "Have you written any?"

Her expression drops as she squints, glancing from here to there as she thinks. Then, it drops further, a look of pure disappointment. "Um, no. Not yet."

I sigh, leaning back in my seat. Well, no wonder she looks downtrodden. That really is a disappointment. Still, I suppose she's at the beginning of her story. She can only go up from here, unlike me. "Anything in the works?"

"I have… a couple ideas."

Better than nothing I suppose. A moment of silence falls between us, and I can practically feel her eyes on my arm. "Sooo…" I begin, trying to find another line of conversation. The quiet feels too awkward to let stay. "You know why those guys were chasing you?"

She scratches her head, causing her ponytails to ripple mesmerisingly. "Not particularly?"

"Well, you were out pretty late. Why don't you have a place to go?" There is an annoying phantom itch growing on my prosthetic palm.

Miku shrugs. "I've been wandering for a while." She glances away, scratching at her left shoulder with her right hand. "Never really stopped until now." The scratching movement catches my eye for a moment, giving me a glimpse of a red mark on her shoulder. Frowning, I lean in to try to get a better look at it, and Miku shies away in return. "What are you doing?"

I take a firm hold of her arm as I try to get a good focus on it, rather difficult with her moving away from me. It's, like… a tattoo? A mark? A label? "Stay still, damn it. Just a moment. What is that?"

Miku squirms in discomfort, trying to wriggle away. "Seriously, stop! What's so interesting about my arm?!"

A designation, by the looks of it. My mind jumps to one explanation, the one reason I can remember, and won't move from it. I let go of her arm and slide to the other end of the couch, staring at her as she rubs her shoulder. The revelation is a little disturbing, but… things are all adding up now. "You're an android, aren't you?"

She frowns, staring at me as if that had been obvious the entire time. "Well, yeah. I thought you knew."

I try to put on an expression that properly captured my incredulity at that statement. What's wrong with this girl? Apart from the obvious machine insides? "You didn't say anything!"

"You didn't ask, Moody!" Miku shouts back at me, arms folded, avoiding my gaze with a rather grumpy expression on her face. This is the weirdest android I've ever met.

"I shouldn't need to! This is not a goddamn level playing field! You take one look at me without anything on this prosthesis and you instantly see 'Oh, that man has a prosthetic arm, that man's a cyborg' and -" I stop there as I consider what I just said. I'd never considered it that way before. By all regards, by the very definition of the word, I'm a cyborg. Not exactly a reassuring revelation. Johnathan Moody. Cyborg. When exactly did I clench my fist? "But with you, you're, uh… you're…" I trail off, trying to find the right words.

She cocks her head, leaning in. "What? I'm what? What am I?"

Words. Difficult. It was like shaking hands with a human. Flesh and blood, real as me. "Human. Disturbingly human." I mesh my fingers together, feeling cold and smooth plastic clash with warm, calloused skin. Apt statement on myself, I suppose. "Like when we shook hands. It was, like…" Fuck. Words! Come on! Think!

The android gives me an annoyed look. "You keep doing that! Words! Use them!" Shit, we're on the same wavelength there I guess. Ok, ok, brain. Brainpower. Think words. Woooooords.

Well, her hand was… warm. Pretty soft. Quite the inviting handshake. "Well, like I said. It was like shaking hands with another person. Not an android." I look her up and down. "You're unlike any android I've ever seen, if you really are one. You're just… a person. A strange, strange person." I did my best to shake the connotation of the unspoken words from my head. Now is not an ideal time to be thinking about that. Especially not in what can easily be described as a drunken stupor. They didn't want to leave, clinging to the recess of my mind, sticking like oil stains on denim, and just as foul. Did I have a headache this whole time, or is that a new thing?

I clear my throat awkwardly, scratching my head. "So," I begin, hoping to change the direction of my train of thought, or maybe derail it altogether. "You're an android."

"Yup."

"Ah." A heavy, cringeworthy silence entered the room, chokingly awkward. Silence so thick and so tangible you could probably cut it with a knife. Maybe I'm dehydrated? I clamber onto my feet to fetch a drink from the kitchen - it was a better thing to do than sitting around in silence at least. I yawn as I open the fridge, suppressing a shiver as a wave of cool air washes over my skin. I reach in with my prosthesis to bare through the cold, grabbing the first bottle I spotted. It took me a good minute or two to find a bottle opener. I glare at my mechanical hand as I open the bottle with the other, listening to the characteristic snap of the cap being opened.

The bottle almost made it all the way to my mouth before Miku speaks up from the other room. "Are you drinking in there? Aren't you pretty drunk already?"

I stare down at the bottle. "Uh… no?" A sly grin creeps onto my face. "Not yet, anyway."

"I heard that!"

Ok, how? It was barely above a whisper. Fuck. Right, android. Machine ears. "Heard what?"

"I can smell the alcohol from here!"

I frown. Okay, no, fuck you, you can't do that. I can barely smell it from here, and I've got the thing in my face scant inches away from my bloody nose. I shrug. "Well, you're an android, so shut up! You're cheating!" I take the bottle to my lips and chug half the thing in one go, gulp after gulp. Bottle down, inhale, and I almost throw up. After choking back the foully acidic remains of whatever I had eaten earlier, I take one look at the bottle and pour the rest of its contents down the drain, listening to the awful clug-clug-clug noise as I watch the liquid disappear into the inky blackness. "Fuckin' alcohol. So good. So bad."

I discard the bottle, and am immediately startled by the clinking noise of glass on glass. I glance over, seeing the pile of bottles, all the evidence of my recent need for intoxication. I swear at the scale of the thing - exactly how many bottles are here? One, two, three… Fuck it, let's _not _spend fifteen minutes counting and miscounting. I open the fridge again, scanning for an alternative but grumbling as I find nothing, not even milk. Tapwater or nothing at all. Grumpily, I take a glass from the shelf and run the tap, cringing at the loud noise which causes my head to throb. Why are the taps so loud in this goddamned apartment?

Water in hand, I return to the living room, watching the contents of the glass slosh about with my mismatched gait. I flump back down onto my seat, almost spilling some water.

Miku stares at me as I take a swig. Is that concern on her face, or just disgust? "Are you feeling ok? You look terrible."

I turn to look at her incredulously. Am I feeling ok? Am I? Do I look ok? Well, she already answered that one. "And you've got blue fuckin' hair." I turn back to glare at the carpet.

I see - I don't feel - her hand come to rest on my shoulder, noticing for the first time that her nails are blue, contrasting to her rather pale skin. She's probably paler than I am right now. "If… you don't mind me asking," Miku begins, her tone tinged by what I think is concern. Why'd she care so much? Sure, I got her out of a tight squeeze but… I'm a stranger. "Why are you drinking so much?"

I gulp, my hand tightening on my glass. I down the rest of my water, managing to keep this drink down. Should I tell her? Should I not? I pause there, weighing my options. Christ, my head hurts.

Fuck. I might as well. It's not like I have anything better to do. "Where to fuckin' begin?" I grumble as I place the empty glass on the table. "Well. It's the same damn story of how I got this heap of plastic." I emphasise that point by waving my prosthetic in the air. It lands with a thump on the seat, and I take a moment to just glare at the thing. God, I feel like shit. Okay. Deep breaths. Try to avoid throwing up. "Happened two years ago now. I was in a… vehicular accident. With my father."

"A car crash?"

"Yeah. A car crash." There's a scraping noise as my real hand curls into a fist, scratching against the fabric of the armrest. "My arm - and some of my shoulder - were just… mangled beyond repair. Had to be amputated. As for my father…" I trail off, cradling my head in my hands. "Fuckin' vegetable."

Miku frowns. "What?"

"He's comatose."

"Oh, I'm -"

"But wait, there's fuckin' more!" I interrupt, paying her empty start to a concession no heed. "Two days ago - no, three? Two and a half? Can't rightly remember - he finally died. And I've not had any fucking good work in months, and money is tight, and… and… Fuck." I trail off as I realise my vision has become blurry with tears, wiping my eyes.

"And what?" Miku says softly, her hand still resting on my shoulder. Her concern is touching. And a little disturbing.

"I dunno. I don't have a third - fourth? - thing." I lean back, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Steady. Steady. "Life isn't exactly picture perfect at the moment. I hope that much is crystal fuckin' clear." I frown, eyes shooting open and giving her a side-glance. Why'd she care so damn much? We're strangers. "Why do you even care?"

She frowns too, though there's an element of uncertainty to it I think. "I… I just do, okay? I owe you. I mean, you helped me back there with those two guys. Got almost stabbed for me. The least I can do is listen to your troubles."

I can't be mad at that. "Fuck. Fair enough." I grunt as I hoist myself to my feet, trying to maintain my grip on the concept of consciousness. Awake. Stay awake. "You just… Ugh. Whatever. You can sleep in my bed, I guess."

Miku looks up at me, squinting incredulously. "What? With you?" Ah. Right. No, that's not quite what I meant.

"No, no, not like that. I'm just gonna sleep here, on the couch." To emphasise that, I collapse back onto it, my impact causing her to physically jump again. Since when was I so damn tired? I'm having trouble just keeping my eyes open, now. "You know somethin', Miku?"

I heard her acknowledgement. Didn't quite comprehend it. I was fast loosing grip on my ability to stay awake. "Whoever made you gave you, like… a weirdly perfect face." There wasn't enough time between that statement and my falling asleep for me to regret any of what I said.


End file.
